It Came with the Blooming Plum Trees
by Maiden Bacchante
Summary: Rukia's thoughts on why Byakuya has suddenly turned towards her.
1. It Came with the Blooming Plum Trees

**It Came with the Blooming Plum Trees**

When had it started? She couldn't remember, she wouldn't remember. There was nothing much she remembered these days, her memory was scorched and her mind tired. He rewrote her with every night which passed, and she could not but lie helplessly in his arms, and she knew, knew it too well, she couldn't even bear to remember.

Nights were stifling, so oppressive and hot, and she lay on the floor listlessly her eyes staring at the moon which peeked through the window. Her body was broken, her mind empty, but she was afraid to move, afraid he would sense her, afraid she would give in again, and again. Why did it happen? Why would it stop? Now that they were caught in it, she could not but wonder had it ever been otherwise? The first time he had looked at her with the wild eyes of a stranger, her blood had frozen in her veins and she had heard the door on her past closing with a deafening screech. Two people who had lost their faith, their innocence had accidentally brushed their fingers over a cup of tea. He hadn't even looked at her, instead he had sat down staring out of the window at the first plum blossoms that spring. She had stood still, her eyes fixed on his face, waiting for a sign to explain what had just happened. Because _something_ was definitely amiss. Then he had turned his gaze on her, and those were not the eyes of her brother – there was so much longing, hope and despair it had made her take a small step back. "Nii-sama?..." Then his eyelashes had fluttered closed and he was himself again. Or what she thought, what she imagined his self to be. Blossoming plum trees always made him act out of character, and she had never asked him why. But now she knew… He had written his story on her skin, breaking her little body, grazing his teeth on her throat, closing his lips over that soft spot which throbbed with life, stilling her underneath him with all the heavy weight of the truth. And she had watched with silent despair as their past was fading away.

He had never been too talkative. Now he was even less. Except that now she could no longer be fooled, his mask had slipped. His extreme sense of honor, his dutiful actions – all a façade, all a desperate way to find his path again, to find a meaning. But he had strayed too far already. He had never needed to say a word, but by the way his fingers brushed shyly over her body she knew her sister had never loved him the way she was supposed to. His lips over her skin told how much he had loved Hisana though, and that story was as painful as it was sweet, it made her dizzy with desire while it shattered her heart to pieces. And she hated him for it, she hated him with a bitter taste in her mouth, with a maddened shadow in her eyes and a secret curl of her fingers on his throat. She hated him for seeking redemption in her body and never looking in her heart, not even once. Because the day this stranger she had always called "brother" in a shaky voice had set his longing gaze on her, that very day her heart had burst open, overflowing with a feeling she had never known to be trapped inside.

He rewrote her memories every time he took her in his arms, erased all past experience and laid the foundations for a future that would never come. What was she to him but a means to drug the pain away? He hardly ever looked at her when outside his bed chambers. And yet her eyes never left him, her world stood still when he passed by, cold and unaffected, as if lifeless. But there was so much life and warmth in his touch that it melted her frail body.

She had stopped fighting him, she had ceased to scream inside at the horror that was happening to her. It was so wrong and twisted that it had become devoid of meaning, so surreal she had swept it into a corner of her mind and locked it away. By all moral standards she should have been revolted. Did it mean she had no morals if she was not? Because in the darkness of his room there was no one to point accusing fingers at them, because there it was only them and they didn't want to judge themselves or each other. They just wanted to feel…

But she had questions. And although she inquired with tentative fingertips, answers came back only as riddles she had to solve. She could no longer lie to herself and pretend Hisana was a memory she loved and respected. His story had taught her otherwise. As repentant as she had felt towards the end of her life, facts could not be ignored that she had abandoned her infant sister. Facts could not be overlooked that she had failed to return a love so deep that it had left him scarred and emotionally crippled. Facts had to be acknowledged that one night he had slid open the door to his bedroom and burning eyes that she had never seen before had silently invited the sister of his late wife to take that one small step which brought her inside. Just his eyes. There was also the riddle of why she had let herself persuaded.

It was frustrating and maddening to hate her face in the mirror. It was annoying to undress and wonder if her skin felt the same as… It was sickening to snap her eyes open while he kissed her because the shocking thought of "does it remind him?..." had just occurred to her. It was bothersome to care so much for things unimportant. Because she was not supposed to care, she was supposed to hate him. And not hate him because _he_ didn't care…

So when had it started? She couldn't remember, she wouldn't remember. If she had been bold enough to ask him, he would have said it had begun with the first plum blossoms. Because that's when all heart-wrecking things always began.


	2. Cruel Light of Dawn

Thank you so much for the reviews, honestly I wasn't expecting people to bother with my little story, let alone _review_! So naturally, I never planned to write more, and I apologize in advance if this drabble came off awful. Which I personally think it did :(.

I don't have a beta reader, and I know it's suicidal, since I'm not even a native English speaker (le gasp) but it's all in good fun (is it not?) and ALL spelling and grammar mistakes are intended for the general amusement.

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**Cruel Light of Dawn**

Mornings were always the hardest, she hadn't gotten used to them yet, and neither had he. She knew he was opening his eyes the instant her own snapped wide. Most of the times she would crawl back to her room in the middle of the night to avoid it; he never sent her away, never asked her to stay either. He thought he was giving her a choice, she thought he was being cruel. Yet sometimes she was too tired and dazed to leave his futon and simply lay there spent and fell asleep, covering her naked body with a corner of the blanket, lazily trying to grope around in the dark for her clothes and giving up instantly. But in the early light of dawn things looked very much different. Her mind began to register the terror before her eyes would open, and she would wake up frightened, trying to wrap more sheets around her nakedness and desperately scanning the floor for her garment. Her movements made him stop his regular breathing and this was a sign he had woken up too. Then her silent praying would begin, because she was too scared to make another movement, only her eyes darted into the darkest corners of the room, hoping for the sight of a discarded yukata, or something, _something_ to cover herself and leave, since she could not snatch the sheets underneath or the blanket they were both using, keeping a watchful eye on the horizon line just outside the open shoji door onto the garden, where a frightening shade of pink grew more fiery by the moment. And there would be horrible silence and a deafening heart beat – hers.

This was one of those mornings. How much more, she wondered, how much more before the sun would break into the room, spilling over their bed and revealing the hideous sin under the sheets. He kept still, breathing quietly, unsure what to do – just like she was. "Good… at least I'm not the only one losing my mind over this". Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her clothes, scattered on the floor, on his side of the futon. And his hand lying helplessly near the blue pile of fabric. Her mind started to work feverishly, the sight was maddening and the sun was almost rising, and _his hand_, why was his hand there?! Should she ask him to pick up the clothes and toss them at her? Should she stretch over his body to gather them herself? Should she rise and walk to his side, _naked_?! A slight twitch of his fingers, the only movement in the room now, announced that he was facing the same dilemma. Encouraged, she turned her head a bit, letting him know she had seen the clothes and was hoping for some help on his part. He did not look at her but only quickly grasped the closest piece of clothing (thankfully, not a sock! she sighed inwardly) and passed it on to her. Light was creeping from outside, a closer threat by the second now. Quickly wrapping the yukata around her small frame, Rukia tossed the blanket and rose to her knees, smoothing the fabric around her thighs, then in one rushed motion left the futon and gathered an armful of the rest of the clothing. But the horror was not yet over. Pausing in front of the door for a split second, she turned her head towards him, still lying there, an arm covering his face, and whispered an awkward "good morning". Then she was outside and it was finally done.

One would wonder why then, why was she creeping back in at night, back at the place of terror and shame she so uneasily left the following morning? Because he never called her, no, he was done silently beckoning her after that one first time. And yet she couldn't help it, night after night, sliding open the door of his chamber and closing it behind her with a soft thud. No words to be spoken. No questions to be asked.

She felt sinful and immoral, and it was not because she thought they were siblings, no, that was not the reason, they were not related by blood anyway. She had already decided that their relationship had never been truly that of family, not even _before_. She considered herself tainted and impure, because she was his late wife's sister, the living image of someone long dead, yet never forgotten. Because she was the imperfect replacement of his beloved Hisana. She thought she was beneath him, since that was how she had always felt anyway. And because he never spoke of _it_ and it had become increasingly difficult to guess how he saw the whole matter.

There were little words between them, just light touches, fingers brushing over exposed skin, limbs entwining, bodies melting into each other and soft moans, such sweet sighs escaping their lips. When she knocked on his door, her heartbeat a deafening noise in her ears, she was prepared to meet his hard gaze, then he quickly averted his eyes as soon as she stepped into the room. Her nails would always dig holes in her palms, for the shame was unbearable – it was as if he was never expecting what was to come, every time she seemed to take him by surprise. Which only meant he was feeling remorseful and guilty for ever initiating _this_. What else could it mean when a cold man such as Kuchiki Byakuya would allow her to see his eyes softening in an indescribable emotion that would make him turn his back at her while removing his kenseikan? That assumption made her lower her hands which were reaching to help him with his hair. She longed to touch his hair, it seemed so intimate, like a breaching of the walls around his heart, rendering him vulnerable and… _human_. What she never realized was that the very fact that he was removing in her presence the symbols of power and status which made him heir of the Kuchiki clan was something hardly ever witnessed by anyone. He took his time, slowly combing his long hair with his fingers, placing the pieces in their lacquered box, one by one, deliberately stalling, desperate to give her the choice of walking away. All the while she was trembling with shame and frustration, her back against the sliding door, resolute and stubborn to remain on that side of it. When he finally turned around, his raven hair flowing on his shoulders and a small, sad smile on his lips, she deemed she was finally allowed to walk the few steps between them and boldly untie her yukata, while blowing on the lonely candle witnessing this awkward ritual.

Darkness was always protecting them, even against themselves. In the dark she could touch his perfect face and trace the delicate bones, she could relish in the warmth of his body and inhale the scent of his skin, that faint, sweet smell of cherry blossoms, and she could shiver under the light kiss of his lips. In the dark he was no longer frozen and unaffected, his body was hot just like her own, and his voice, that biting, cold voice of his became soft and sometimes, rarely though, whispered her name. _Her_ name, not the _other's_. It made her wonder, during fleeting, brief instants of consciousness, before her mind gave in to the immense pleasure "Why, sister, why couldn't you love him?"

Then it was morning again…

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Argh, I'm going to hide in a very dark corner and weep in frustration! I wish I were a better writer, no! I wish I _were_ an actual writer! But anyways, behold the limits of my writing skills!

Just throw a blanket over me and let me die in peace …


	3. Meaningless Rituals

Hm, about that first time thing – I really think Rukia is old enough to safely assume she is not a virgin anymore. I can't imagine the exact details of how that went :) or who was the lucky guy (Renji is most likely the perfect candidate), but who would want to be a few decades (centuries?) old and still be (haha) untouched?

I'm having a completely free, rainy Sunday afternoon so I thought I'd give it one more (desperate?) try. Don't kill me if the result is not pretty to look at.

Thank you so, so much for the encouraging reviews! They make my day!

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**Meaningless Rituals**

It had taken her decades to get used to the Kuchiki way of life. She rarely paused to consider it, but although she felt trapped and suffocated to be part of a noble family of such status, it had nevertheless affected her behavior outside the house. She thought it to be tiresome to always sit straight, look only ahead and use slow, deliberate gestures. Yet all these came naturally and effortlessly with her friends. She had only noticed recently that Renji had stopped burping loudly during lunch and his cheeks colored vividly whenever he wasn't careful enough to control himself. His posture was no longer sloppy and he drank his tea in a most dignified manner. He actually struggled to keep that dignified look on his face even if he drank milk, and it cost him a great deal of restraint to keep it even after a few bottles of sake. It made her smile, although she couldn't quite tell if the change was due to her influence or that of her royal adopted brother, whose lieutenant Renji had been appointed as. She couldn't remember what she and Renji were arguing about that day when he had thrown in her face what he thought to be a grave insult: "You are becoming more and more a Kuchiki! You and _him_ are two of a kind". He had lost his composure and was intent on giving her a piece of his mind so he ranted on about how cold his taichou was and how he never smiled and how she seemed to catch whatever ailment he was suffering from. "This damned family is sucking all the joy and life out of you!"

"Please do not insult Nii-sama in my presence". She had just huffed and turned her back on him. She knew he was right of course, but she had become a part of the Kuchiki entity, not the old stern counselors or the stuck up matrons of the clan, but that part which was so beautifully embodied by her brother. Dutiful and honorable. Seemingly unaffected and emotionless. A heart so well hidden, he had almost forgotten he had it. And so tragic…

She could identify with him very well, in the strangest of ways, she could tune into his feelings and perceptions and not condemn him for his coldness. People thought him haughty and even cruel and unfeeling. She knew he was no such things. He was just a man raised for the sole purpose of ruling over the others, and keeping a steady focus on a greater goal, even when that meant ignoring the rest of the world. And that was precisely what she found fascinating about him: his heart had always been in the way of that greater goal and he had never failed his heart, not even once.

In the end she had gotten used to the new life style. She still felt stifled and remembered fondly the carefree days before her adoption, but at least now she was _belonging_ somewhere. Not with the family, but with _him_.

Over the years, he had learnt it was safe to somewhat let his guard down in her presence. Sometimes she caught rare glimpses of a fading smile, or a softening look in his eyes. At first, she could do nothing but stare, her mouth agape, and excuse herself in a hurry. Although she longed for recognition and admittance, she had found herself unable to respond properly to whatever tentative steps he took in that direction. And as much as she secretly cherished the accusation of similarity Renji had so angrily thrown at her, it only meant they were both dysfunctional and too emotionally crippled to ever become family. Which, in the end, they never did.

Morning rituals had always been a quick and abrupt way to snap out of the sleeping daze and become wide-awake very early. The Kuchiki way had taken care of her lazy nature and educated her into a bright-and-early proper lady, hair in place, fresh face and alert disposition. She had hated the Kuchiki way with a fierce passion, until one beautiful summer morning when she and the sun had woken up at the same time. She had stood up, eyes fixed on the blazing horizon and inhaled the cold air; she had felt blessed. That day was the very first when she had knelt down at the table across her elder brother with no frown creasing her brow. She was wearing instead a very luminous smile. Also, a surprised clatter of a tea cup being set down announced that he had noticed her change of mood too, and the softened voice in which he greeted her told how pleased he was with it.

It was a beautiful summer morning now, too, except that it was one of those torturous times when she had had to creep out of his room at dawn. Not something she would want to remember fondly, she thought while splashing cold water on her face. It had to stop, there was no doubt about it, _she_ had to stop it, since she was the one insisting it went on every night. As to why he allowed her to… for the sake of whatever sanity she had left, she had decided it was healthier to leave that question unanswered. It involved deceased sisters, uncanny resemblances and unresolved issues, and no, no, she did not want to think of it. Even if they hadn't been adopted siblings, thus only complicating things even more, it _still_ would have been a twisted situation. She wondered what deafening truth Renji would feel the need to shout at her if he knew. She started combing her hair with rushed motions while looking for something else to wear. The yukata he had tossed at her not even an hour before was crumpled and not fit for their daily breakfast. On closer inspection, she noticed it was actually ripped off a bit and she allowed herself to recall the moment _that_ had happened. She rubbed her temples, frightened to find the sensations and images so vividly imprinted in her memory. "I should be sickened, sickened…".

It could not be helped though, there was no sense of direction, no guidance for situations such as this, especially for someone left completely alone. At least with Renji she had known where it was going. They were young, bold and eager to live and they understood each other. They had gotten together because it went without saying that was the natural course of things. There was no tragic passion, no tears, simply the everyday joy of getting along. And much laughter. She had never stopped loving him, and she knew he still felt the same. She couldn't even say the feeling had altered to fond friendship, no, it would have been untrue. What they felt now was rather similar to what they had felt back then – warm feelings and a solid attachment. Except that her heart had been shattered to pieces by the one she had always called "brother". Except that she had found out there could be more than what she had experienced with Renji as a young, carefree girl. And that it was, at the same time, much less than the way Renji had always made her laugh.

It was clear to her that Renji wouldn't have understood at that point and would have tried to snatch her away, back to carefree happiness. Tucking a rebel strand of hair behind her ear, she thought the time for simple joys had passed and, in a most masochistic way, she was feeling very much alive besieging a heart surrounded by walls so thick and high it seemed an impossible task. All the while knowing, once the walls knocked down, that there was no real hope for wholesome happiness. Yes, wholesome, healthy, that was the word which described best what she had shared with Renji; abruptly put an end to as soon as she had been adopted into the Kuchiki family. Her noble brother knew, of course, but he had passed the undignified task of letting her know she was supposed to maintain an acceptable conduct onto one of the stern matrons of the clan. Who had, just as well, taken the liberty of phrasing his decision in such manner as to make her feel utterly disgusted with herself. She had never severed all ties with Renji, as the venomous woman implied Kuchiki-sama had asked, instead the new arrangement had turned Renji into her brother's most ardent challenger. Because the new situation deemed him unworthy of her. Just as she was unworthy of her royal brother, who, for mysterious reasons or perhaps simple whims, had taken her under his protective wing. Now, with the adoption riddle solved, she felt even more inappropriate.

The morning sun had long ago breached into the room, and as its rays hit the mirror in a corner she knew her brother must be already waiting for her to join him for breakfast, as always. Meaningless rituals she had used at first to spy on the daily habits of a stranger she all of a sudden had to call "nii-sama". She had sat mortified across the table for weeks and months observing his every move, trying to learn from his graceful and precise gestures, his likes and dislikes, especially his dislikes, for she wanted him to be pleased with her. For instance, she knew now that summer mornings always made him slightly lazier, his moves a bit less fluid, as if anticipating the blazing afternoon which would undoubtedly follow. His nose would scrunch a bit at the smell of hot green tea, ah, one had to be very attentive, or else they would miss it, the delicate nostrils flaring and a slight, imperceptible eyebrow twitch.

"Seiobo-san! Kuchiki-sama would like his tea cold, please see to it that they put ice in it right away"

Of course, it had taken her a few years to actually see those barely visible signs and a few more to accurately interpret them, since at first she couldn't even look at his face. Her eyes were fixed on her food and chopsticks, for she was sure she was making heaps of etiquette mistakes and had awful manners. Gradually, her focus had moved towards his hands, an obvious source of inspiration, and she had tried to mimic his elegant gestures. Which involved the bringing of food to his mouth. A mouth that _never _made noises or spoke during the slow and deliberate process of chewing. A mouth she had to keep her eyes glued to, because it never repeated his words when it did speak.

Mornings were indeed interesting times. Unawares, she had grown to like waking up early and having the first meal of the day together with him. After all, there weren't many people who could brag having seen the great Kuchiki heir barefoot, clad in simple light clothes, his hair tied at the back of his neck and splashing freezing cold water over his face. Never losing that dignified, unaffected look on his features. Secretly, she had come to enjoy playing guessing games, as to what his moods and expressions meant. People were mistaken in assuming he was haughty and paid no attention to his surroundings, on the contrary, he was the closest thing to a perfect warrior she had ever known, so it went without saying he was acutely alert to everything around him. He was hardly ever taken by surprise. Yet he was very much human, even if he kept everyone at arm's length. Who could tell, if not his sister who had been at his side for so long?

Yes, indeed, how ironic. The one who had feared him and trembled before him for years, desperate for recognition, yet kept at bay, just like everyone else, was nevertheless the closest to him. Able to read into an eyebrow twitch that he would much rather have a refreshing drink instead of hot tea, but would not mind a steaming cup when doing the paperwork on those long winter afternoons, when everything was still and quiet and servants slipped out of the kitchen to doze off; that rain made him sleepy and tired in a most pleasant way, and sometimes he stopped fighting the drowsiness and fell asleep in his chair, only to wake up covered with a cozy blanket, while his sister slid away hopefully unheard; that blossoming plum trees made him sad and at times angered, because it was around that time of the year that his wife had passed away; that his cold eyes could look desperate and longing and that he could shatter a world with just a flutter of his eyelashes; that, surprisingly, his hands were very soft and warm, and could be so soothing and his skin had a faint cherry petal scent clinging to it; that he could be breathtakingly beautiful with his hair down, like no man should be allowed to be; that his lips could burn undying marks and could whisper her name in a way that made her eyes fill with bitter tears, because none of it, none of that could be. Ironic indeed, because she really wished it were possible.

Smoothing her hair and pinching her too pale cheeks, she hurried to meet him for breakfast, knowing she had just broken a capital rule – punctuality. She sat down, throwing him a quick, furtive glance and the words were stuck in her throat. He did not look well, he had dark shadows under his eyes, and his face matched her own paleness. Indeed, this had to come to an end…

"Good morning", she whispered for the second time that day.


	4. Bringing Down Idols

A short explanatory note: I don't read Bleach the manga, watch just the anime, it's a personal quirk of mine, since I think the manga (generally speaking) tells a better story and the consequence of trying to get into both at the same time would be lessening the pleasure of watching the animated series. I would just end up comparing the two and be annoyed at seeing things changed from the original plot. So, unless I've missed a lot of hints / facts, the anime has plenty of holes to fill to one's infinite pleasure and imagination.

From this perspective, I can safely allow Rukia to have an innocent relationship with a much younger Renji (as you can see, I conveniently kept Ichigo out of the picture). It doesn't make her promiscuous nor very experimented, it's just my way of complicating things a tad more :). I love angst, what can I say. Besides, I don't care to make her Byakuya's fresh chance at everlasting happiness, all pure and untainted, ready for him and waiting for him (ahem) both body and soul, it's not how I see them in this little story. Admittedly, there is quite a significant possibility that the real Rukia IS actually a virgin, but it doesn't serve my purpose to picture her so. Maybe some other time :).

**Thank you for reviewing, thank you so much!** I really appreciate people taking the time to read and post an opinion about the story, since I'm really not much of a writer and constructive criticism helps a lot.

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**Bringing Down Idols**

It had been a moment of despicable weakness, absolutely unforgivable, which had degenerated into something he could no longer control. Couldn't, wouldn't, words, words, unspeakable actions and frightful consequences. He could not contemplate the whole situation in the calm and detached manner he pondered everything. He _was_ the very situation.

It was his nature to be constant and solid, a pillar of support, immovable and steady. His nature forbade him to forget. That was the reason why his conscience had been a bloodied wound ever since that fateful first night, which he himself had initiated and it was too late for regrets now. A never ending spiral of guilt and sorrow, just like things had always been.

He could remember vividly that day when Rukia had asked him to join her for tea. She had always kept a watchful eye on him during early spring, she had already guessed something was different and seemed afraid to ask what. With the passing of years, she had simply come to accept it was a period of unusual distress and had chosen to keep quiet about it. She was nevertheless supportive and attending to his needs, even when he was idly wasting away in apathy. That peculiar time of the year had come around again and Rukia had taken it upon her to comfort him with her company at the end of the day, joining him for a rather awkward ritual – she would pour tea, serve him and sit quietly, sipping from her own cup. In the end, he had to admit she was distracting him enough not to allow himself to sink in the usual reverie, recalling past happiness and feeling dejected. Her presence made him uneasy, as if his thoughts were visible and his emotions written all over his face, so he had to keep his thoughts and emotions in check. Consequently, he felt and thought less about the past, unwillingly anchored to a present where his sister sat across the table, watching him through her eyelashes and pretending to be interested in the delicate leaf pattern on the tea cups. Fighting the urge to curtly dismiss her, he had switched his focus outside the window, when all of a sudden he had seen it. The first plum blossom, shyly opening up to the pale spring sun, a small yet strikingly visible spot of brightness on the tree branch. A multitude of sensations and memories had instantly invaded him, violently reviving a dreaded day in the past, when he had knelt beside his sick wife and had watched her fade away. Helpless. Taken aback by his weakness, he had tried to still the tormented beating of his heart and reached out for the cup of tea Rukia had presented him with. His movement too rushed, his hand had grabbed the steaming cup before his sister had time to release it, so their fingers brushed for a brief instant. Then it had happened again – time had rolled back and it was Hisana before him, eyes curiously gazing at him, her hand slowly retreating and her mouth trying to formulate an inquiry. Shuddering mightily, he had fluttered his eyes shut, while Rukia was taking a small step back, unsure of what had just happened.

That day had been the beginning and it had continued through the night. If he was mad, it had to be she was even madder, otherwise he couldn't explain why she had read the sorrow in his eyes and had chosen to let him drown it in her body, so willingly, so accepting of exactly what it meant. Because he was sure she had known its meaning. Because that night they had locked away their past as siblings, and he had taken her body to make up for the promise of some days long gone. He hadn't taken her to _be_ Hisana, he had claimed her to make up for what Hisana _hadn't been_, to make up for her sins, to make up for waiting for her to return his great love. Not to bring her back from the dead, but to have her buried once and for all. To break the spell and end the suffering.

He had loved her so much, so much it was impossible to remember what it felt like. A love so fierce and gentle at the same time, a feral passion and an overwhelming urge to protect – he had never thought himself capable of such conflicting emotions. They had been all revived that night and poured into Rukia, willing replacement to a ghost. After that first look into her eyes, silent plea to end his torment, he had kissed her eyelids closed, as if to keep her soul untainted, and not witness the profanation of the body. Gently moving his lips on her temples and hair, he had bared her white shoulders and had divested of clothes her little body. The _other's _body. A body which trembled just like he remembered it would, delicate hands rising to cover the exposed chest, like they had always done, face red and burning, lips slightly parted to protest and the fluttering long eyelashes sparkling with a lonely tear. The view had been so painful it had made him back away in remorse and utter shame. Then she had opened her eyes and pierced his very soul. That look had been the only difference, the only thing mattering. That look had been… expectant. Fulfilling the promise of a blissful past which had never happened. It had stripped him of all control and he had drowned in her body, breathing in her scent, looking for the differences that made this experience so new and healing. Her fingers were a bit calloused, undoubtedly from wielding the sword and her grip was stronger than he remembered it should have been. Therefore, he had allowed himself to sigh contentedly under her touch, relishing in the different feel of those hands which looked the same as Hisana's. Her skin was milky white and soft, like in his memories of it, but underneath there were lithe muscles and her legs had locked determinedly around his waist. After that, there were only differences to notice… in the way her body arched into his touch, her sighing which quickly became wanton moaning, her hands shamelessly exploring his body, pausing to caress areas Hisana could barely look at, all of it so shockingly new it had driven him to push the limits, to see what her breaking point was, where she would no longer allow him to use her body. As it turned out, she never stopped him. And he had gratefully taken her all.

What he had never anticipated was the timid knock on his door the following night. And the next one, too. And all the nights afterwards. Deepening the wound in his heart and forcing him to acknowledge his sin every time he tried to look into her eyes. Which he always failed to accomplish. So he ignored her outside his bedchambers, because looking at her meant looking at his mistake and it drove him mad to know there was no way he could fix this one. He had sworn to protect Rukia and he hadn't been able to protect her from himself, seeking redemption in her body and damning both their souls. He had broken all vows and rules, had trampled all over the teachings instilled in him for all of his long life, had ignored the voice of his conscience, that guiding whisper which could get so loud at times it was deafening. He was horrified to even wonder why his little sister would give herself to him so freely. Nevertheless, the fault lied with him.

His regular visits to Hisana's shrine were torturous. He had fought his conscience and his conscience had won – he would keep them as frequent as _before_, but they were becoming increasingly shorter. He hadn't noticed that himself, but the servant tending to her shrine had learnt over the years when it was a good time to enter again, after his master's homage had been paid. The noble was accustomed to seeing him there, head bowed, patiently waiting for him to walk away. And the old caretaker was not there yet, not anymore. At first, he had thought the man had grown lazy and had angrily picked up the pace to find and punish him thoroughly. Then came the realization and the overwhelming shame upon finally understanding he was quick to leave Hisana after barely a few moments spent in silence inside. And then more guilt…

There was a time when he was free of guilt though. Under the protection of darkness, he could hold her without having to see her eyes, because there he saw himself reflected. His conscience was asleep at night, while he bruised her young body leaving her discarded on the floor afterwards. Sometimes he was extremely gentle, eliciting such sweet sounds from her, melting her under his touch until she moaned his name in abandon. Other times he was rough to handle her, tearing off her clothes and using them to tie her up, blindfold her when he feared her eyes and using her to satisfy his selfish needs. She willingly went wherever he wanted her to, always. Shamelessly opening her mouth to receive him and worshipping him with her delicate hands, moving above him, her thighs wet with impatience, arching her back when he took her, her lips scorched and parted. He had thought her small frame too frail to adjust him, but the willingness with which she welcomed him inside her never ceased to amaze and arouse him.

And then mornings came. He had always considered Rukia a stranger. His duty to protect, an idealized way to honor his late wife, a symbol, yet not a real person, someone to bond with. It had surprised him that of all situations, awkward mornings were when he felt more in tune with her feelings. Watching her dress, out of the corner of his eye, listening to her quick breath intake as she rushed out of the futon, her bare feet falling on the floor in small steps, the pausing just before sliding open the door and the shy greeting… he was sure she would realize it all too late, but he already knew _it_. The unspoken _it_ between them, that thing which was blossoming in her young heart, that thing which he wanted to crush, because he could not allow it, because it had to remain nameless, that _it_ evilly grew more powerful each day. Rukia would have named it _love_, had she been aware of it, he would have called it _hope_, but was vaguely afraid he would speak too soon. Others would have plainly screamed out _sin_.

"Nii-sama…"

His hand carrying the chopsticks halted midway and he couldn't help the angry frown.

"Don't call me _that_!"

She lowered her eyes, suddenly out of words. There was silence during breakfast and they parted ways for the rest of the day.

Nothing was settled. All was changing.


	5. Undo This Evil

Sorry for the horrible delay in posting this chapter, my muse ran out on me and left me a worse scribbler than before. I'm afraid I'm so bad at making Rukia and Byakuya have a (normal) conversation it's not even funny. You'll see for yourself, but be warned - you're in for some seriously sucky writing. Also, I forgot to install the Word proofing tools after my system crashed and was brought back to life and I seem to have misplaced my Office disk :(. So if spelling / grammar mistakes poke you in the eye, please let me know, I'll fix them as soon as possible. Reviewing is optional, as always, but constructive criticism is most welcome =).

**Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review, my heart skips a beat whenever I see a new one! :)  
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**Undo This Evil**

What if she had been first? She was at least allowed to imagine it. Daydreaming though was definitely not healthy, especially during sparring matches with a determined opponent; she often paid with painful bruises the momentary lapses of picturing a guilt free world. A world where Hisana was simply her sister, but not his wife. Unmatched pieces of her sister, that was all she was.

"This is the day, this _will_ be the day…"

One fine summer evening, set against a fiery sunset, a shinigami walked through the gardens, headed towards the Kuchiki heir's rooms. Gritting her teeth, clenching her fists, each step less determined than the one before, she nevertheless advanced towards her goal. Thoughts whirling through her mind, she could only repeat those words which drove her, like a wicked chant: "I have to undo it, I started it, it's mine to end". Sliding the door open with a weak hand, she knelt before the leader of the clan, bowing with a pale demeanor.

"Forgive me, nii-sama, for disturbing you!"

A quick glance and then she bowed deeper. He had put aside the scroll he was reading, but she had obviously interrupted him and was now waiting for her to speak, in his regal and cold manner. Suddenly, all words were gone from her, her mind was blank and panic was already drying her throat. She felt weak and was certain she would have had difficulties standing, weren't she kneeling in front of him. He kept silent, patiently waiting for her to begin, his hands folded in his lap, emotionless as always. Her feverish mind began registering things around – a few scrolls lying on the floor, a wooden tray with a teapot and a half-full cup, steam slowly rising from it, his clothes (_"He's not wearing the captain uniform, how rare…"_), his regal posture...

"Rukia… What is it that you wanted to see me for?"

She blinked startled and a soft whisper escaped her lips, before she even had time to think it through:

"Us."

His body stiffened slightly, but there was no other sign of disturbance and it became clear to her that he would not speak until she had said everything she had come there to say. Unfortunately, she had entered the lion's den without a weapon at hand, except her now crumbling determination. Fear, she could taste fear in her mouth and she could no longer feel the legs underneath her. Vaguely, as if not even there, she could hear herself utter brazen lies, and in the back of her mind she wondered why she was not able to find a simpler way. She spoke of her sudden decision to be married, the ceasing of their affair being obviously implied. Yes, of course, since it was implied, there was no need to actually speak it out loud, so there was no need to be afraid anymore. He was silent still and his eyes betrayed no surprise, so that she had switched her focus on an imaginary spot on the wall behind him. And then she bowed deeply, her voice tired and her energy depleted:

"If you deem me worthy, I shall enter any marriage the family decides is suitable; if not, I shall find a husband on my own."

Silence. It was almost deafening. She was aware that he was still looking at her intently, but she could not bring herself to meet his gaze. _"It is done, over…"_. Strangely though, she felt nothing – no fear, no regret, but also no hopes for what was to come. She was almost certain she would cry that night locked in her room, hidden under blankets, but for now she was peaceful. His indifference, real or feigned, was nevertheless helping her to keep her composure. His voice resounded deep and calm, like always:

"You will do whatever you please, Rukia. I believe you've done enough for this family for us to burden you further with our demands. I shall support you in all your decisions, and if it's marriage what you wish for, I'll be nothing but honored to give away my sister to any deserving man."

"_Liar! Liar! Any deserving man… As if there is such thing in your eyes… "_

She smiled a hidden smile and bowed deeper, her hands brought together. Yes, the evil was undone, they were free from it, from each other. As she was walking away she realized things had changed irremediably in a matter of moments, and now she had to find a suitable groom. Her pace picked up and she was soon running – _"__Heavens, what a twisted way to handle it! What to do now? What to do?"_

Renji… he would help her… but she wouldn't dare… would she? The moment she reached her room, a decision had already been made; with firm, deliberate movements, she started packing a small bundle with all things necessary. She was to run away, even if it meant disgrace. Hers, she couldn't care less about it, but _his_ too? She could not be the blemish on his immaculate name – she dropped to her knees, crushed under the burden of her actions. A horrifying vision of the future was unfolding before her eyes: bound by her word, she was to marry another man, with any luck Renji, for he had risen through the ranks and maybe he was worthy of her now. Maybe. If not, the clans' elders would most likely be happy to provide a substitute for the occasion, certainly someone to break and humiliate the street rat they had always had to tolerate in the family. And she would have to leave _his_ side. Forever. It was of course the only way for the affair to end, but the thought was frightening; never to be embraced by him again, even as the ghost of her sister, never to have meals with him, be spoken to, smiled at occasionally, shiver under his gaze, none of that ever again? She was no longer a child, she knew now that if Renji had been the one for her she would have struggled to remain by his side at whatever costs. But when she had to leave him behind there was no hopeless despair as she was feeling now. And there would be no one to stop her, she was free… even if it meant nothing.

There were two people in the Kuchiki mansion who struggled in vain to sleep that night, both trying to be at peace with the same decision. It was also the first night Rukia did not enter her adopted brother's bedchamber, even though a pair of slate eyes kept half-expectantly watching the door. Morning found them each in their own room, dark shades under their eyes, awkwardly aware of the fact that things had suddenly changed back to the state they were in _before_. And they both had no clue as to _what_ exactly that was.

For the first time in their long life together Rukia sat down alone at the breakfast table. The master of the household had left early at dawn to attend to urgent business, they told her, but she knew better than that. It simply was time to become strangers again and part ways in a dignified manner. As she was trying to ingest food suddenly gone tasteless, a question grew louder inside her: what evil was greater – being in this clandestine relationship or having ended it?

The day was long and fruitless for Rukia, she still was not able to decide what to do. One thing was certain though – she had to leave, to be married or not, it was yet to be seen. At the end of an exhausting training session all she could do was curse her unimaginative mind which had produced such an idiotic scenario: marriage? of all stupid possibilities, she had chosen that?!? She couldn't go back on her word now, especially one given to her brother. She took a long, winding road home that evening and, as she entered the house and saw the calm and expressionless face of the Kuchiki lord, she felt an inexplicable surge of wrath and suddenly realized the reason for her actions – she wanted a reaction from him, an answer to her unuttered question: "What am I to you, nii-sama?".

In the end she had lost it all and the feeling was unbearable. His loneliness had been the reason for all of it to begin, and in loneliness it was ending, only this time for both of them. The tragic outcome of their affair was that it had opened her eyes to something deep within her that could no longer be ignored. It was not timid admiration she had always felt towards him, instead it was more, silenced and trapped inside her only by his distant, icy-cold behavior. As soon as he had turned towards her for guilty comfort she had known she wanted more. Ah, if only she could muster the courage to speak the words, ask the burning question, they were all there in her eyes, at the fingertips shyly touching him, waiting only for little encouragement to burst out.

"What am I to you, nii-sama?" The question was there eversince the first day in the Kuchiki household. What was the purpose of her presence in the house, why had he disrupted her life and trapped her inside this cage? The living image of his dead wife – she had done her part beautifully, one could not ignore the irony, down to the finest detail, she had played her role. But the charade was over, and it saddened her beyond her ability to endure that, after all, he had only been a spectator and was now ready to have her vacate the scene. Watching him furtively while he was giving instructions to one of the servants it occurred to her that he might actually be pleased with her for being brave enough to break free and leave him behind.

"I'll retire for the night. Have a good rest, nii-sama"

He gave her a silent nod and she softly exhaled disappointed. But as she was sliding the door shut behind her his deep voice, equal and clear, uttered her name and she stopped startled.

"I trust you'll let me know in advance when you are bringing your chosen husband to meet the family. I'll gather the council to make a public announcement."

The air around her suddenly felt chilly, but she managed a weak smile and a barely audible "Of course, nii-sama..." before she was out of the room and rushing to her bedchamber, utterly discomposed. It felt like he was eager to have her removed from his side, as soon as possible, and she could not even blame him for it. She had no other plan than ruining her life in an attempt not to ruin his, so she cried herself to sleep for lack of a better alternative.

It was pitch dark outside and very windy when she suddenly woke up with a strange feeling. Expectant. Heart beating loudly and painfully alert she went to the door and waited. The door slid open without a sound and he was standing in front of her, wordless, face hidden in the darkness of the room. He just stepped in and placed a hesitant hand on her head. "I simply wanted to see your sleeping face... and make sure you are at peace with... everything...". She looked up at the faceless dark form and felt the warmth of the palm resting on her hair. It was the most distressed he could afford to show, that fateful night excepted. The words might have seemed meaningless, but the fact that _he_ had spoken them meant a world of hope for Rukia. It meant he cared. It would have been a perfect moment to scream out all her doubts about leaving him, all the fears about being without him, all the confusion he made her feel, instead she shook her head gently: "I am fine, nii-sama, please don't loose sleep because of me". As she closed the door behind him it struck her that at least he had been honest, while the same thing could not be said about her. This man of so little open emotions had come to her in the dead of the night to somewhat, somehow ask her to reconsider. And she had fallen short of his expectations. It occurred to her this might be her only chance, come daylight they would return to the usual awkward silence, and, after all, how ironic indeed – hadn't they always communicated better when darkness prevented them from seeing the other's eyes? A few rushed steps and she was upon him, not wanting to have the time to change her mind, not wanting to think the idea through, simply needing to speak out the truth, for this once at least, to let it all out no matter how shameful or idiotic it sounded. "I don't want to leave..."

She thought the wind outside had prevented him from hearing her, but his voice was so gentle when he asked her, almost hopefully, "Are you certain?..."

She was. Words came difficult though, it was hard to give a name to an emotion that was yet nameless to herself. But words had never been helpful between them so she stepped close to him and took his hand between her slender fingers. Urged by the same nameless feeling within, she pressed a gentle kiss to it. "I am".

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Hah, I need to be stopped before this story becomes fatally cheesy =).


	6. Unwritten Pages of Our History

I've been meaning to finish this story for ages, but I only managed now, for which I'm terribly, horribly sorry. Review if you like it, review if you hate it, you'll make me happy either way =).

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**Unwritten Pages of Our History**

He thought he could watch it silently and feel happy, but not like this. He thought he would be prepared when the day came, yet that day had arrived and he was helpless, his smile frozen in a grimace and his eyes slanted with an embittered stare. _Him?…_. It had struck him only a few moments before, while turning his head to catch something Rukia had said, his ears deafened by the sudden wind, but his childhood friend had already fallen silent, a small pale hand smoothing a rebel strand of hair, in a gesture so familiar. Her eyes had a new look, one unknown to him, one never seen before, mysteriously longing, and her eyes were following _him_. The day he had always been dreading was this very day, but the waiting had not prepared him for his captain. For her adopted brother.

There had been a shift in the wind to announce it, but one endowed with as little subtlety as Renji had not been aware of it. There had been a softening of his captain's voice whenever he spoke to his sister, but Renji could only think "Ah, finally, that pompous bastard has come around". There had been smiling on Rukia's face whenever she spoke to her brother, but she had always been blushing and flustered in his presence, so Renji had thought "Ah, finally, she's no longer intimidated by him". And together they had been moving away all along, leaving him alone and mislead in his ignorance. A fool.

A blind fool. Looking at _it_ made him want to pick up a stone from the dirt and throw it at them, point fingers and cackle madly, because, after all, how obvious and predictable was all that? A lonely man with a dead wife on a pedestal, the uncanny resemblance of her sister, his promises and pride, his keeping her at bay, the torture of seeing her face, the _temptation_... Ah, how mistaken to think him above all that, a man of higher morality and demeanour, how foolish. Every man battles his demons, but not all are victors. And Kuchiki Byakuya was nothing more than a man, made of flesh and pain, made of loneliness and loss and subject to his flawed humanity.

Renji was mad. Because in Rukia's eyes the same damned nature was mirrored. Renji was furious. Because his captain was not perfect and pure as he had led him to believe. Renji was desperate. Because the world as he had known it until only a few moments before was being torn down and the reality he deemed solid was nothing more than grains of sand blown into the wind.

And because he had lost before even trying to fight this battle. Nothing had ever been fair to Abarai Renji, why would this be any different? He trailed behind Rukia, as always, ever since that hateful day when she was made an official Kuchiki (_damned_ day that was!) trying to asses the damage. Because he could not imagine she was whole and sane feeling _those things_ for her _brother_, there simply had to be something wrong. She looked the same, he thought warily, small and pale as ever, eyes too big, as if her soul would pool in them and threaten to spill over, admittedly faint dark shadows under them, but then again she had always had a rather sickly air about her. As if her looks betrayed her, going against her strong personality, and stating that yes, she did need protection after all, because yes, she was indeed absurdly fragile. No, there was nothing there to speak of sins of the flesh or soul and Renji grit his teeth because his mind started to wander dangerously to a place where Rukia was the Rukia of their past and that one assured him he was an idiot for imagining she would even dare to look at her brother for more than five seconds without wanting to run in the opposite direction. Because _that _was the natural order of things in Renji's world. An order which Rukia was intent on upsetting by stealing glances at his captain, blushing and secretly smiling, unknown even to herself, because, obviously, there was no place for Renji in _their_ world. And Renji's hand would itch for stones to throw at them, _sinners_, because if he could not have Rukia, then certainly neither could Kuchiki Byakuya, since he already had too many of the things Renji treasured, such as, for instance, his respect.

But this Rukia was obviously not his own and Renji realized he barely knew her at all anymore, for she had never looked at him that way, of that he was perfectly certain. Because if she had then no Kuchiki clan in all the hells would have snatched her away from him.

So he grudgingly trailed behind her, because, unfair though as it was, that was where he belonged – in the past. And this strange Rukia, who, Renji noticed with a silently breaking heart, actually _trembled_ a bit when her brother brushed past her, was a misguided fool who pretended not to see that no good could come of this. No good at all.

There was a time when Renji had been a misguided fool as well, and it was not far behind this very moment, he thought ashamedly. A time when he blissfully imagined that he would prove himself worthy of Rukia, whatever that meant, and his captain would respect him, because, damn him, he had worked hard to earn himself that _precious_ sentiment, and all would be as before and even more, because distance did make the heart grow fonder. Fondness apparently made the heart grow distant, he thought with a bitter smile. And it was hard to stand aside and look at it.

How much time had passed since his... epiphany? Moments, hours, lifetimes? How many steps had Rukia taken, before straying inexorably in her brother's direction, as if pulled by an invisible thread? Two, three perhaps? How many desperate thoughts had crossed Renji's mind, such as "What if I took her hand?" or "What if I killed him now and be done with it?" or "_What if he breaks her?_" Too many...

He glared at _him_, the one on both their minds, walking in front of them, long strides and firm steps, head high and mouth set tight. Looking only ahead. Nothing different about him, no softening edges, no mellowing smiles (_could he even smile at all?_), nothing to reassure Renji _she_ was safe in his hands. And right behind him, ghostly pale but decidedly following, his Rukia. Or rather _his_ now.

Where were hollows when you felt murderous? Renji needed desperately to slay a dozen or two right about now, and hope that he would be avenged. None in sight though, only a man with a cold stare and a girl with her soul in her eyes, ambiguously gravitating towards each other, yet stubbornly looking away. And with each step slowly leaving him behind.

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Thank you so much for reading!(if anyone read it at all).

I think this qualifies as a happy ending? I know I meant it to be one, but I have a hard time imagining Byakuya and Rukia beyond this point, they're too angsty. I'm rather limited that way :).


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